


One Day a Tortoise Will Learn How To Fly

by DiefaceJohnson (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, F/M, M/M, on hiatus indefinitely, so sorry you guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DiefaceJohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an alpha attack, Stiles realizes that he is distinctly less helpless than everyone assumes he is. When his own pack refuses to accept this change, opting to ignore him, he makes it a personal goal to show them just how independent he can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles is staring at himself in his bathroom mirror. He's just peeled off his ripped and bloodied shirt in order to inspect the damage done to his poor torso. His pale skin is smudged with blood in many places, but at least some of it belongs to the alpha wolf who'd thought it would be cute to steal the Hale Pack mascot.

Stiles takes a close look at his reflection, checking his new scars, and sees how much his body has changed over the past 6 months since junior year started. He's grown more muscular, actually has abs now. He has definite chin stubble that needs to be shaved. There's muscle separation in his shoulders, which have grown broader and rounder. He's strong…and kinda hot, he realizes.

"When the fuck did that happen?" he asks himself softly, brushing a hand over the newly defined bumps along his abdomen. He'd been so busy lately; between looking after his dad, keeping Scott on a leash, acting as a mom to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, a physical and emotional punching bag to Jackson and Lydia, and a smelly-dying-werewolf-chauffeur-service to Derek, he's had no time to think about himself in nearly a year. Add the alpha pack that's been breathing down all of their necks since the end of last year, and Finstock's hellish lacrosse practices every day after school, and Stiles barely has the time to sleep with all of the running around he does on a daily basis.

Well, that probably has something to do with it, he thinks, looking down at his pecs. He has pecs now. It also probably has something to do with how he'd held his own against that idiotic alpha earlier. Stiles thinks about the whole stupid incident.

Stiles was heading to his car in the parking lot of the grocery store, where he'd been picking up the fixings for a tasty but healthy dinner for his dad, when he was snatched up by a trio of leather-clad alphas. They had chattered all the way to the hideout, all about how angry the Hale pack was going to be that their pet had been kidnapped, and how cute their little puppy was. It had stung, but Stiles held his tongue.

They'd left him under the care of a lone wolf and gone to announce their little accomplishment to the pack over at the Hale estate. The idiot they left him with hadn't expected Stiles to try to escape, so he hadn't even bothered to restrain him once they'd reached the alphas' hideout. That was his first mistake. Then, after he'd distracted the alpha with some grade-A trash talk (second mistake: not tuning Stiles out), Stiles sucker punched him, catching him by surprise. The alpha had gotten really angry then, and tackled Stiles, causing them both to crash to the floor of the abandoned factory building they were holed up in. It was actually a pretty close fight, though Stiles got scratched up a bit (claws and all that), until Stiles was able to get a hand in his pocket and pull out his taser. He'd been able to electrocute the s.o.b. in the side, and gain enough of an advantage to land some solid blows of his own, drawing blood from the alpha's lip and cheeks before the wounds healed up. Eventually he'd pressed the taser to the alpha's neck, which caused him to pass out long enough for Stiles to get back to his car, drive home and run up to his safe room with its secret store of wolfsbane dust.

And now here he is, taking a good look at the damage done, which isn't nearly as bad as he'd thought. He looks like a different person without the baby fat on his bruised face and with the added muscles on his frame. _And yet, I still get treated like a child whenever I'm around my friends. Such bull._ If there's one thing that Stiles can say about himself now, it's that he is no longer a boy. He's definitely giving off a manly vibe.

He decides then and there that he's not going to accept being treated like the red headed step child anymore. Now that he's taken notice of this change, he's going to make sure that his pack does, too.

After cleaning his cuts with antiseptic and covering them with large bandages (good thing his father always kept the first aid kit well stocked), he takes another look in the mirror. Yep, definitely hot, he thinks, before turning off the bathroom light and heading to his room to do some research.


	2. Chapter 2

The first step in fulfilling his badass potential? Getting a new weapon.

Stiles reclines on his bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about his weapon choices. The taser is effective and all, but even though it's saved Stiles's life a few times, Stiles always feels like some kind of frightened damsel when he uses it. Allison has her arrows, the wolves have their teeth/claws, and Lydia uses Jackson as her personal weapon (but Stiles suspects she has hidden retractable claws too). They're like TMNT, with all of them carrying the perfect weapon for their style. And Stiles carries the weapon used by little old ladies to protect their virtue.

He thinks, _What's a weapon that a bamf would carry?_ "I know!" he exclaims, shooting up into a sitting position. Inspired, he races over to his computer, opening Chrome and typing "collapsible cattle prods" into Google.

* * *

 

It takes 3 days for the cattle prod to be delivered (Stiles paid the extra arm and leg for express shipping), and the first thing that Stiles does upon assembling the object is give it a name. "I can't very well call you 'Collapsible Cattle Prod' because that's just a mouthful. Plus you're not for cattle, you are for smart-ass werewolves. Hmm…"

Coming to a decision, he states, "I shall call you Shocky, and you shall be mine, and you shall be my Shocky." He stands in a clear section of his room, saying "Come on Shocky, let's do some practice." He takes an experimental swing, and promptly hits his own shoulder, electrocuting himself. "Ow! Bad Shocky, bad Shocky," he exclaims.

_This is gonna take some work._

* * *

 

For the next week, Stiles is on overdrive. Every day he gets up early enough to make breakfast for his dad, usually skipping the meal himself, before heading to school; he pays a reasonable amount of attention to his teachers during class (he's read all of his textbooks already, so it doesn't make much difference whether he's actively participating); he gives his all at lacrosse practice, which earns him a few compliments from Finstock, and some dirty looks from Jackson; he goes wherever the pack needs him, usually with a Derek-assigned babysitter on his tail. And every single day, he drags his tired ass home and practices his skills with Shocky. He even does a bunch of martial arts research and assigns himself moves and stances to master.

It takes some getting used to, swinging Shocky around when he's accustomed to using his crosse. Shocky is much smaller and lighter, so at first Stiles over swings a lot, hitting himself. He keeps it at a very low setting so that he won't hurt himself, but never practices with it turned off because if the danger of getting shocked isn't there during practice, he'll get careless when it's set on a high voltage. He has no desire to fry himself.

Stiles shudders at the thought, then continues his practice at an even slower pace than usual. "We are taking no chances, Shocky," he says aloud, and he totally believes Shocky agrees.

* * *

 

The first few days were hard, but once Stiles's muscles get used to the new kind of movement, his control is better and he stops shocking himself quite so often. He adopts sort of a tai chi approach, because he's sure that if he can do the movements slowly, a fast paced fight won't be very hard.

Stiles improves quickly when he sets his mind to something. He's very committed to becoming proficient at using Shocky, and by two weeks after his realization, Stiles feels amazing. He's beyond the sore phase that had set in once he'd added personal training to his nightly routine, and now he just feels a pleasant burn when he's following the slow movements he'd set out to learn. He trains shirtless because he's decided that he's done with self-consciousness, and the slightly-too-large shirts that he favors just get in the way anyhow.

He can feel himself growing stronger with the work.

 _Good,_ he thinks. _The stronger the better…I need to make sure they never treat me like I'm weak again._


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles is seated at his computer desk, doing research for an AP Lang paper that had just been assigned earlier in the day, when his dad knocks lightly at his door. "Stiles," he says, opening the door a crack and sticking his head in. "You've got a visitor."

Stiles spins around in his computer chair to face the doorway, expecting Scott to enter. He is surprised when his father steps aside to reveal Lydia. His dad looks pretty surprised, too, which: rude much? His dad coughs and says, "I'll leave you alone, now," before shutting his door.

Lydia looks perfect, as per the usual. Her strawberry blonde hair falls in silky waves down over her shoulders, and her makeup is immaculately applied. She has on a pink dress featuring a low neckline and high hem, with a black blazer and black patent leather pumps. Perfect for walking on Stiles's heart in.

"Hi Lydia," Stiles says. "What can I do ya for?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come bowling with me, Scott, and Allison tonight," she tells him casually.

"You wanted to know if I, Stiles Stilinski, would like to go bowling with _you_?" he sputters in response. Mostly to himself, he asks, "Is this the real life, or is this just fantasy?" at which Lydia rolls her eyes.

"I'm serious, Stiles. Do you want to go or not?"

 _Hell yes!_ He thinks, before being pulled short by another thought, one that he voices. "Why aren't you going with Jackson?" he asks, skeptical.

She sighs dramatically at that, saying, "I was _supposed_ to go with Jackson, but he's in one of his moods again."

"Would this happen to be the 'Lydia, I'm breaking up with you for no apparent reason' mood? Because he's been slipping in and out of that one for months.

Lydia's face hardens. "Yes, apparently he's confused as to how lucky he is to have me."

"And you thought you'd take me instead to show him just how desirable you are? You'd just show up all shiny and perfect and you, and I'd hop-to to go out and make your not-quite-boyfriend jealous? That's great, Lydia," Stiles says, anger rising in his chest. _Of course she isn't here just for the pleasure of my company._

"Oh, come on, Stiles," she coaxes, switching gear. She closes the distance between herself and Stiles, where he's still seated in his computer chair. She bends at the waist, giving Stiles a good view of her cleavage, and brings her lips a hair's breadth away from his left ear. She whispers, "You know that you want to come with me; you've been dreaming of going out with me for ages."

And she's right. Stiles has been carrying the biggest torch for Lydia for, like, 9 years…and he's been getting rejected for just as long. Is he supposed to be jumping for joy because he's been upgraded from being rejected to being used?

The old Stiles would have been happy with that. Hell, he would have been overjoyed that Lydia even thought that his presence would be able to make Jackson jealous. Jackson's muscular and tan; Jackson's a star lacrosse player; Jackson's basically perfect, except for…ya know, being a douche nozzle. The old Stiles couldn't stand up against that.

But this Stiles—the new and improved Stiles—knows that he's better than that. He's muscular too, and getting more defined by the day as he continues practice with Shocky; he's actually a great player now that he's getting lots of field time; plus, he's still Lydia's intellectual equal (something very few people can say). Stiles is awesome, and Lydia ought to learn that she can't just bat her eyelashes and get what she wants from him. As far as Stiles is concerned, he and Lydia are equals. And she deserves a taste of her own medicine.

Lydia's lips still hover by his ear, and Stiles can tell from her satisfied air that she's taken his pause for thought to be a silence of agreement. Silly her.

Stiles reaches up with his right hand and slowly cards his fingers through the hair at her temple, stilling when his hand reaches the nape of her neck. Lydia takes a sharp breath in at the movement.

Stiles chuckles. Well, I didn't have to try very hard at all.

He tightens his hold on her hair, before gently tugging her backward and turning his head slightly so that they're face-to-face. She's holding her breath, and Stiles can practically see her brain running, trying to supply her with the proper reaction to Stiles Stilinski taking control of a situation, and doing it well.

She comes up empty-handed; Stiles can tell by the shaky inhale she takes while searching his face with her eyes. Their faces aren't more than 3 inches apart. Stiles smiles at her confusion.

"You're right, Lydia," he whispers, and he knows she can feel his breath tickling her red, red lips. "I used to dream of going out with you. Actually, I used to dream of just having a conversation with you."

Lydia asks, softly, "And not anymore?"

Stiles doesn't answer immediately, instead standing from his chair. Lydia stands straight with him, his fingers still loosely grasping her neck. He begins to walk forward, forcing Lydia to quickly back up in her high heels. When her calves hit the edge of Stiles's bed, she falls backward, Stiles coming down on top of her, but still elevated because he'd extended his left arm, which now rests beside Lydia's slightly splayed hair.

Stiles uses the fingers that had been at the nape of her neck to cup her jaw, his thumb ghosting over her cheek, back and forth.

"Oh, Lydia," he breathes out. He brings his lips down to meet hers, kissing her firmly, but slowly. He licks at her lower lip, and when she eagerly opens up for him, he briefly teases her tongue with his before pulling back, nipping at her lip as he ends the kiss. He opens his eyes just in time to see hers flutter open before focusing on his, expectantly. "No," he says, before standing and stepping back from the bed.

"No?"

"No. No, I don't dream of being with you anymore. You are gorgeous, talented, and brilliant, and if you ever seriously, in the waking world, want to be with me for me," he gestures to his chest where it's covered by a plain navy blue t-shirt, "I'll be happy to oblige. But I am not going to play stand-in for Jackson. I'm too good for that, and I think you're too good of a woman to resort to using your friends. Especially the ones who know you best."

Lydia lay there, a stunned look on her face. It doesn't look like she'll be moving of her own volition any time soon.

"I uh—I think you should go now, Lydia. I've got to get back to researching pygmy elephants, so…" Stiles trails off before sitting back down at his desk, turning his back on Lydia and jiggling the mouse to halt the screensaver. As he's trying to find the place he'd left off on the NatGeo website, he hears Lydia stand and yank open his door, almost bumping into the sheriff as she exits.

"Sorry, Mr. Stilinski. I was just leaving," Stiles hears her mumble to his father, followed by the sound of her patent leather heels quickly clicking down the steps, then the solid thud of the front door shutting.

His father is standing in the doorway of his room; Stiles can feel the eyes on his back, judging him. Stiles spins to face him. "Yes, dad?" he asks.

His dad says, "She left like your talk didn't go well, but her lipstick was smudged like she'd been kissing someone." Stiles meets his eyes steadily. "Did you do something I should know about? With—or to—Lydia?" the sheriff asks in a rush.

Oh, he's worried.

"Dad, I would never force myself on anyone. You've raised me better than that. And we didn't…nothing really happened," he replies, honestly. "She's just a little upset because I turned her down."

"You turned her down?" his dad asks, gaping at Stiles.

"Gee dad, Thanks for the vote of confidence!"

"Sorry, sorry, son," the sheriff hastens to tell him. "It's just…you've been in love with that girl since you were 8 years old. Why turn her down now?"

Because," Stiles replies," she asked me out because she just knew I wouldn't say no, not because she hoped I'd say yes. I've been maturing a lot these past few weeks and I guess I just slipped out of my role as her safety net while neither of us were paying attention."

His father is silent for a moment before saying, "Okay," simply, and walking away from Stiles's room and down the stairs. "Dinner in 15," he calls back up behind him.

"'K, dad," Stiles yells down, returning to his computer screen for the second time.

* * *

  
It's going on 11 that night, and Stiles is just settling into bed with his laptop to watch some BtVS on Netflix, when he gets a text message. Checking the screen, he sees the nickname he's chosen for Scott flashing across the screen.

**From: Wonderpup**

**To: Me**

**What did u say 2 Lydia? She nvr showed at the bowling alley.**

**From: Me**

**To: Wonderpup**

**We barely even talked, Scott. She didn't tell me where she was going when she left, probably just went to find Jackson or something. Text him.**

**From: Wonderpup**

**To: Me**

**Dude! Y didn't u come bowling w/ us? This was ur chance w/ Lydia…**

**From: Me**

**To: Wonderpup**

**Look, I don't want to talk about it tonight. I'm busy…I'll talk to you tomorrow at school, okay?**

**From: Wonderpup**

**To: Me**

**R u "busy" playing w/ urself? ...Nvm, I dnt wanna know. Ttyl buddy.**

Stiles tosses his cell to the foot of his bed before pressing play and sinking into the episode. It's called "Hush" and watching it makes Stiles sincerely wish he could put Scott's voice in a magical lockbox to halt the interrogation/pity party that's coming tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

When Stiles wakes up in the morning, there is barely time to think about the day ahead before a feeling of dread settles over him. He knows he's in for a day of Scott's piteous puppy dog eyes.

_I so don't need that right now._

He showers and brushes his teeth before throwing on a pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt, and clomps down the stairs to go to the kitchen. "Hey, dad," he says sullenly when he enters the room to see the sheriff already seated at the table. His father glances up from the newspaper he's reading and asks, "What's wrong, kiddo? Are you not feeling well?"

Ever since Stiles's mother died of miliary tuberculosis when he was 9, the sheriff has been super aware of any potential illness in his son. If stiles would so much as say, "Yeah, I'm feeling a bit nauseous," his dad would let him stay home, just to be on the safe side. But Stiles knows that he can't avoid this conversation with Scott forever…Scott could pop up in his bedroom at any time. _Just had to go and have a best friend who can scale walls. Nice move, Stilinski._

"Nah, I'm just a little tired," he sighs. "I was up late watching Buffy again." The sheriff shakes his head before returning to his paper. "Typical."

"I know, I know," Stiles says, grabbing an apple and heading back toward the doorway. "I'm an idiot who ought to get more sleep. I'll work on it, but I make no promises where Buffy is concerned."

As Stiles opens the front door to go out to his car, he hears his dad yell, "Drive safely!" which is dad for "I love you, so you'd better get home in one piece." Stiles calls back, "You got it, dude!" before closing the door and making his was to his jeep.

_Here we go,_  he thinks as he climbs in.  _I have a feeling this is going to be a long day._

* * *

When Stiles parks in the school parking lot, he doesn't immediately see Scott, so he allows himself to relax a bit. Maybe Scott isn't planning on throwing him a pity party. Maybe he won't be asked to explain himself at all today.

Wrong.

As soon as Stiles steps out of his jeep, Scott appears out of thin air. Ooor he just stepped out from behind the car. Either way, it causes Stiles to jump when he sees him.

"What the hell?!" he says, slamming his door shut. "What?" Scott asks, looking confused at Stiles's choice of greeting. He probably isn't even aware of how creepy the whole 'silent as a ninja' thing can be for people who can't smell when a person is standing behind him.

Stiles sighs. "You do know that I'm not a wolf, right? I can't hear your heartbeat and know your exact location, so whenever you appear in front of me like that it basically gives me, like, a heart attack.

"Oh." Scott looks sad, like he really feels bad about scaring Stiles, and Stiles can't handle the puppy eyes this early in the morning. He sticks out a hand to ruffle Scott's hair, saying, "It's okay, buddy. Just give a guy some warning next time, yeah?"

Scott smiles and nods his head, then allows Stiles to lead him into the school and to their first class.

* * *

It's not until lunch that Scott asks, "So, what happened with Lydia yesterday?"

Stiles had begun to hope that the interrogation wouldn't come when Scott had failed to broach the subject of Lydia in any of their shared classes from the beginning of the day. He should have known better.

The two of them are seated at their regular table with Allison, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. More often than not, they are joined by Jackson, Lydia, and Danny, but today they are sitting pointedly separate. Danny keeps glancing confusedly between Jackson and Lydia and the rest of the pack, Jackson is just sitting there looking prettily unimpressed by life (nothing out of the ordinary there), and Lydia is—a little too obviously—looking in every direction but at their table.

How was Stiles to know that giving Lydia a taste of the rejection he'd been receiving for years would cause a pack-wide incident? He just wanted to stand up for himself, not get walked all over for once…

"Hello? Earth to Stiles," he hears Scott's voice say, bringing him back from his thoughts. "Huh?" he asks. Maybe he can avoid answering the original question.

"I  _said_ , what happened with Lydia yesterday?" Scott reiterates, unhelpfully.

"Oh, that. It's really not an interesting story." Stiles had decided the night before to keep the kissing part to himself because that's his business but it's also Lydia's business and it's not for him to go telling to uninvolved parties. That'd be a douche move.

"ShecameoversheaskedmeoutIturnedherdownsheleft," he says in a rush. "Really not noteworthy—" Aaand there are five sets of incredulous eyes staring at him, as well as four jaws on the ground (Boyd's jaw didn't move).  _I wonder if Boyd is capable of full facial expression of any emotions other than bored, smug, and apathetic…_ he thinks, before being interrupted by Scott's sputtered, "Can you repeat that?"

"She left?"

"Before that."

"She asked me out?"

" _After that._ "

"…I turned her down?"

"Yeah, that...Are you sure that's how it happened?"

"Yeah, Stiles. What's up with that?" Isaac chips in, followed by Erica's "I thought you worshipped that ground she walked on."

_Ah, there they are! The tactless reminders of how lame-slash-needy they think I am._  "I know you guys think I'm socially inept and beggars can't be choosers and all that, but is it really that hard to believe that I said no to Lydia because I just don't want her anymore?"

The looks that they exchange tell him that yes, that is very hard for them to believe.

"You know what," he says, standing angrily from the table, leaving his still-full lunch tray. "I'm not really hungry anymore. I'm gonna go be undesirable somewhere else."  _Probably the library where there's no one there to insult me._

He doesn't miss the way that Lydia finally turns to look at him, watching as he stalks from the lunch room. Neither does Jackson.

* * *

The rest of his classes for the day are filled with big eyes and pouty lips as the rest of the pack tries to apologize nonverbally for 'hurting his feelings'. What they don't know is that Stiles's feelings aren't hurt. He is properly pissed off, and they will be getting the silent treatment for quite a while.

When it comes time to change for practice after school, Stiles ignores Scott and Isaac's attempts at conversation. On the field he puts all of his focus on getting the ball in the net and avoiding the other players milling around him. Every time he gets the ball, he acts as if he's in training at home; he knows that he can be agile and quick, that he can duck and dodge and throw with the best of them. Channeling his anger only makes him better, and the only player who downs him during practice is Jackson, which doesn't surprise Stiles one bit; Jackson is perpetually fueled by anger. Stiles enjoys butting heads with him during practice, because it feels like a challenge. Fun times.

* * *

_I am so ready to get out of here._

Stiles has just stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his hips. He walks out to the locker area and sees that he's apparently the only player yet to leave. Shrugging, he drops his towel once he's standing in front of his own locker.

Once again, modesty fails him. Stiles is no expert on male anatomy, but judging by what he's seen about the locker room, he's pretty well off. Besides, his new attitude leaves no room for shame.

He's just about to pull on his boxer briefs when he feels eyes on his back. For an instant he considers quickly dressing before turning around, to try to preserve some privacy, but he tamps down the urge. That's something the old Stiles would have done. He has nothing to be ashamed of.

He does, however, use his eyes to locate Shocky, who is collapsed and slightly sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans. That in mind, he puts on his calm face and slowly turns around.

The person watching him is Jackson. He looks like he'd been prepared to do some shouting but had been stopped by Stiles's nudity. His eyes were canvassing Stiles's body in the most peculiar way…

Stiles smirks. "Hello, Jackson," he says. Jackson's eyes snap back up when Stiles speaks. "I hope you don't mind if I get dressed. Steam heat only lasts for so long, and I'm starting to feel a bit chilly."

Jackson glances away while Stiles nonchalantly steps into his charcoal grey underwear. Stiles could swear he sees a blush on Jackson's cheeks.  _Interesting_. Stiles decides to explore that.

"So, was there something you wanted to talk about, or…?" He throws out as he pulls on his jeans and fastens them around his hips, again with a comfortable air about him. He refuses to rush. His words seem to make Jackson snap out of it, though, because he goes from damn-near-bashful to fuming in two seconds flat.

"What did you do to Lydia?" he demands, stepping into Stiles's personal space. "What do you think I did to Lydia?" he asks in response, not backing away as he would have done in the past.

Jackson says, "I don't know, but there was more than what you told the others at lunch. When Lydia left your place, she came to mine, all upset. And your scent was all over her. Not just the smell from being in your house, either…like you'd been  _touching_  her."

"That's because I had been," Stiles whispers back with a smirk. Jackson growls at this and steps even closer to Stiles, pushing him back until his shoulders hit the lockers with a bang. Jackson's cloth covered chest presses against his own still damp one. Stiles's smile never leaves him.

"What were you doing touching my girlfriend?" Jackson asks, flashing his beta-blues. Stiles imperceptibly gets a hand onto Shocky's grip.

"Oh, calm down J," Stiles says, using a pet name he knows Jackson hates and looking directly into his glowing eyes. "She asked if I still wanted her, I told her no. That's all. So what if I made her realize that she  _does_  want me before she left."

Jackson scoffs, going for his 'spoiled prince among peasants' face. "And why would she want you?"

Stiles brings his face a little closer to Jackson's before breathing, "I don't know, J. Probably for the same reasons you do."

"I don't—I'm not—!" Jackson stammers. "No point in denying it," Stiles whispers in Jackson's ear. "I saw the way you were looking at me earlier, like you'd just had a revelation. I don't need superwolf senses to know what you were thinking…"

Jackson groans at the words tickling the shell of his ear, but it turns into a growl as he fights off his arousal. Stiles feels his whole body stiffen through their torsos, which are plastered together. Unable to come up with a retort, he withdraws and pulls back an arm to throw a punch at Stiles's still smiling face.

Stiles has already tensed his muscles to dodge the blow, as well as halfway removed Shocky from his pocket when the door to the locker room opens. Both Stiles and Jackson freeze, and moments later Jackson has been yanked backward and a curly blonde head is in front of Stiles's eyes.

_Isaac._ Stiles hears Scott's voice on the other side of the locker room, yelling at Jackson. "…What the hell is your issue? You could have broken Stiles. Literally!"

Disgusted, Stiles shoves Isaac away from him, earning himself a hurt look. "Thanks, but no thanks, Lahey. I'm still not speaking to you," he says before turning back to his locker. Isaac doesn't say anything back, but after a minute of quiet arguing between Scott and Jackson, all three of the beta wolves exit the room, heading for Derek's house (Stiles assumes).

Stiles is seething. He'd been about to get his first fight as the new him, finally be able to let off some steam, and Scott and Isaac had had to go and ruin his fun. He quickly changes back into his lacrosse shorts, grabs his crosse and three balls, and heads back out to the field.

For over an hour he stays out there, working through sunset. He runs laps, does suicides, and practices trick shots until he is so tired he can barely lift his arm to wipe the smudges of dirt off of his face. When he finally climbs into his Jeep, deciding to just shower and change into pajama pants when he gets home, he feels the best he's felt all day.

* * *

Stiles drives the whole way home with the windows down, enjoying the way that the wind tickles his scalp through his buzz cut and feeling free for the first time in a while. He knows that he doesn't have the energy to practice with Shocky before he gets started on the meager amount of homework he'd been assigned that day, but the alone time on the field had been worth it. His head is as clear as the night sky.

He pulls into his driveway behind the familiar Sheriff's cruiser, grabs his book bag and gear from the back seat, and climbs the steps to the front door. It opens before Stiles has the chance to turn the handle. The sheriff, who'd opened the door, stands behind it, and he looks upset.  _Shit._

"Where have you been, Stiles?" his dad asks, stepping aside to allow him in. "It's late, and you haven't been answering your phone."

Stiles mentally facepalms. He'd left his cell phone in his duffel, on silent, during and after practice, not giving his dad a heads-up that he'd decided to stay late. Even when he's out running with wolves, he usually has his wits about him enough to text his dad some bullshit explanation for being out late. Usually that he's at Scott's.

He says, "Sorry, dad. I stayed late at school to do some extra exercises—"

"Is Finstock making you stay on the field after dark on school nights?" his father interrupts. "Because if he is, that is not acceptable."

"No, no," he assures his dad. "This was all me…I just want to keep improving, ya know?" The sheriff's face softens a bit. "Yeah, I know, son. But you need to give your body a break sometimes." He shoves his son's shoulder lovingly, saying, "You look like crap."

Stiles chuckles and promises to get some rest, then climbs the stairs to his bedroom where he intends to pass out. Only trouble is, there's someone in his room. He's not sure how he feels it, but Stiles knows that it's true as soon as he enters the darkened room. He pretends not to have noticed, dropping his duffel on his bed with and reaching inside to grab Shocky. Maybe he'd get a fight after all.

Alas, his hopes are dashed again when Derek steps out of the shadows, and Stiles removes his hand from his bag sans Shocky to look at Derek. "Can I help you, Captain Stoic of the SS Creeper?"

Derek is unimpressed by his wit. He asks, "Have you got a death wish?" which totally lends credit to Stiles's nicknaming abilities. "Not particularly, no," Stiles responds. "Why do you ask?"

"Because, from what I hear, you have zero sense of self preservation. I mean, I know you have a penchant for getting yourself into some dangerous situations, but provoking Jackson? Alone? How stupid do you have to be?"

"Whoa there, cowboy. I've been called a lot of things in my life, but I absolutely draw the line at stupid," Stiles responds, but Derek continues as if Stiles hadn't spoken at all. "Jackson's anchor is Lydia, and she's not the most stable grounding point in the world lately, Stiles. Jackson could've flown off the handle and broken every bone in your body. You don't know how to fight a wolf properly! If Scott and Isaac hadn't been returning to get Scott's keys to Deaton's office out of his locker, you could be in the hospital right now!"

"Have you forgotten about the alpha incident a few weeks ago? Because I got out of that just fine," he replies intensely.

Derek waves that off. "That was just dumb luck," he says, and Stiles honestly hits his breaking point.

"Out."

"Excuse me?" Derek asks. As if he hasn't got superwolf hearing.

Stiles begins to advance on Derek, slowly. "I said, out. Get out of my room if you're going to stand there and insult me. I have reached my patience quota for the day. Get. Out." When he finishes, he is standing nose to nose with the alpha. He is too done to even feel fear that Derek might wolf out while Stiles has no weapon within reach.

Derek's glare fades, though, leaving him looking almost ashamed. "Stiles—" he begins, before appearing to stop to find the right words. "I just want to protect you. You're so breakable, and I need you to be safe. Can't you understand that?"

"I understand that perfectly," Stiles says to the wolf. "Now listen to my heartbeat and tell me if you understand this: I do not want, nor do I need, your protection."

He knows that Derek understands him loud and clear when his earnest face becomes plainly sad. Stiles turns away to get changed for bed and hears a thump as Derek lands in the yard below his window.


	5. Chapter 5

**Inbox (5)**

**From: Wonderpup  
**

**To: Me  
**

**Hey Stiles...Me and Allison r going 2 the movies 2day. Do u wanna come w/ us? It'll b fun.**

* * *

**From: Lahey :)  
**

**To: Me  
**

**Stiles, come back! Derek's so mean when you're not here D:**

* * *

**From: Batgirl**

**To: Me  
**

**If I let you touch my boobs will you come back to the pack?**

* * *

**From: Batgirl  
**

**To: Me  
**

**I'm serious Stiles. Isaac and Derek are walking around like kicked puppies, it's making me sick.**

* * *

**From: Wonderpup**

**To: Me  
**

**I can ask Allison not 2 come, if u want. I just miss u man...**

* * *

Stiles reads the messages in his inbox before pocketing his phone without replying to any of them.

It's almost two pm on a Saturday, four days after his close encounter with Jackson in the locker room; four days since he'd kicked Derek out of his bedroom; four days since he'd really spoken to any of his packmates. Isaac, Erica, and Scott have been texting him regularly, trying to break down his resistance with their cuteness or with bribes. Boyd had texted him too, but only a couple of times, and those were to find out homework assignments he'd forgotten to write down so Stiles didn't include those in his ignore-a-thon.

It's harder than he'd imagined ignoring his pack. Even though Stiles isn't a wolf, it still feels like some really important bond has been severed. It kind of hurts him to do, but it's freeing at the same time, and Stiles is nothing if not determined.

Stiles's phone vibrates in his pocket once, twice, three times, so he knows it's a phone call. He pulls it out and see a picture of his dad on the screen.

"Hey pops," he answers. "What's up?"

"Hi, Stiles. It's getting toward lunchtime, and I suspect you've only been awake for an hour now, so I figured you could pick up some food and come have breakfast-slash-lunch at the station with me."

"I'll have you know, I've been up for  _two_  hours," he says with mock indigence. "And yeah, sounds good. I'll grab some grub and be there in about 20."

"Okay, son. Drive safely."

"Always do." Stiles ends the call, shuts down his laptop, checks his pockets for keys, then heads out.

* * *

When Stiles arrives at the station he is buzzed behind the front desk by an officer who has known him since he was half his current height. As Stiles walks past the officer, Officer Davis, Stiles remembers, he is stopped with a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry over him too much, kid," Davis says sympathetically. "Let's all just be happy that he wasn't in the car when it happened." Fear creeps up Stiles's spine. "When what happened?" he asks. Officer Davis seems to realize that he spilled information that he shouldn't have, and his face reflects that. He says, "Uhh, I think you should hear that from your dad, kid," and retreats to his post behind the desk.

Stiles's legs carry him to his dad's office in next to no time. He pushes open the door to see his father sitting in the computer chair behind his desk, frowning at some pictures in his hands. "Dad."

The sheriff looks up at Stiles and slaps a smile on his face. Stiles sees him trying to discreetly slip the pictures underneath some case files on his desk. "Oh no you don't," he says, and he quickly covers the distance from the door to the desk. He snatches the pictures from his father's hand, not even caring about the grounding he's sure to get for the action.

"Stiles!" his dad yells as an admonishment. Stiles ignores him (doing a lot of that lately) and examines the images in his hands. They're all of the sheriff's car;  _his dad's car_. Its windows are covered in spiderweb cracks, save for the back windshield which is shattered entirely. The doors and hood are badly dented, the front antenna is bent at a 90-degree angle, and there's a symbol spray painted in black on the trunk. It's a huge triskele, matching the one that had been painted on the Hale house so many months back.

 _Fuck no._  "Did you see who did this?" he asks his dad. The sheriff shakes his head. "That's what I was going to tell you over lunch. My car got badly vandalized, but it was in the dead of night while I was in here taking a nap. They must've thought I was at home...They weren't trying to hurt me," he finishes, trying to sound reassuring. Which is easy to do when you don't know that the gang of kids who beat the hell out of your car is composed of werewolves. And that they quite possibly committed the whole act with their bare hands, 'cause they're scary like that.

But Stiles knows better. He knows that they would've been able to smell that the sheriff was in the station, to hear the slow heartbeat of a man asleep. He knows that the could've killed his father last night, and that they didn't, which means that this is their way of calling out the Hale pack. Again. Funny how even when he's keeping away from all things wolf the supernatural still finds a way to shit on his day.

Something dawns on him. "So if you're so sure they meant you no harm, why'd you call me down here to be under the watchful eye of the sheriff's department?" he asks. His dad knows that he's not a stupid man, so he doesn't even deny that the lunch was to lure Stiles into police protection. "It's just a precaution, Stiles. I didn't want you home alone when we were so uncertain about who did this."

"Well, I wasn't going to be home alone today, dad. I was planning on going to the movies with Scott and Allison," he lies easily. "You know, a crowded movie theater with lots of other patrons. And security guards."

"And would you be spending the rest of the day with Scott and Allison?"

"Of course. We're long overdue for a bro-day. Did I ever mention that Allison's been upgraded to bro status? She's like Hawkeye, but pretty, and we can bond over the fact that both of us beat Scott in every video game we've ever played-"

"Alright, alright, you can go after lunch," his dad interrupts. The '...just stop talking _.'_ is implied.

Stiles fistpumps exaggeratedly for his father's benefit, but internally he feels far from triumphant. While they sit and eat, his mind is going a mile a minute trying to figure out how to make sure the alphas stay away from his dad. Werewolves can be so hard-headed sometimes.

* * *

When Stiles gets home from the station an hour later, the pack is already in his house. "How?" he asks blandly when he walks in to see Derek, Peter, the pups, and even Lydia and Allison, all arranged around his living room. "Scott came in through your window and let the rest of us in through the front door," Derek explains. At least they hadn't  _all_  tracked through his bedroom. "You know, then?" is Stiles's next question. Everyone nods. "And you all came over here to make sure I wasn't puppy chow?" No response from the peanut gallery. "Did any of you even think to check on my dad?" Again there is no response, but Stiles sees the realization and shame that appears on most of the others' faces. Scott actually flinches.  _Good,_  Stiles thinks.  _My dad's basically been your dad for the past 12 years and it never even crossed your mind to see if he was still alive._

"Well," Stiles says, "could you send three or four of the pack to the station, Derek? I mean, since you insist on sitting watch anyway."

Derek seems happy that Stiles didn't try to send them all away-happy in that Derek Hale way indicated by a slight decrease in his scowl-and tells Isaac, Erica, and Boyd to head to the station. They obey without a word, but look reluctant to leave Stiles. Isaac briefly rubs his face against Stiles's temple as he passes toward the door. He doesn't turn to watch them go. Without another word to the others in his living room, Stiles goes into the small sitting room that holds his dad's desk, picks a book off of the bookshelf, and sits down to read and kill some time.

* * *

"I need to go to Deaton's" he tells Derek an hour and a half later.

"Why?"

"I want to get some mountain ash. If I can make it so they can't get into the house or the station, it takes my dad off the table as a bargaining chip." Stiles tells him. It's not technically a lie, so no red flags go up for Derek.

"Fine, but Jackson's going with you," Derek says.

"Why can't Scott go?" Jackson yells, just as Scott shouts, "Why not send me?"

"Because," Derek begins in his alpha voice, "if Stiles tries to do anything stupid--" there's that word again, "--Jackson will definitely stop him. You're too close, Scott."

 _Fine with me._  Stiles had been planning on outsmarting Scott, but he could definitely work with Jackson. "Fine. I have to get something from upstairs, I'll be back down in a sec."

He runs up the stairs to his room. Once inside he locates the can of pepper-spray he'd augmented to spray crushed wolfsbane and mountain ash along with the usual aerosol concoction and shoves it in his pocket. Stiles knows that he may be very strong, but he and Shocky alone won't pack quite enough power to pull off what he has planned.

Stiles stands in the center of his bedroom, taking deep breaths and thinking about what he's about to do. Despite his calming breaths, he feels his heartbeat pick up. Trying to get it under control before the fur brigade hears and comes rushing up the stairs, he switches to thinking about all that he's done over the past month: all of the hours spent learning how to use Shocky, the extra laps run after coach Finstock'd dismissed the team, the research into self-defense and defense against werewolves.

Stiles finds himself half smiling. He knows that he excels at anything he puts his mind to, and he's put his whole mind and body into being ready for just this situation.  _I can do this. I'm a hunky dude. I'm a badass hunky dude...who quotes Amanda Bynes movies..._

Jackson appears in the doorway as Stiles shakes his head at his pre-battle quotage. "Whenever you're ready to stop being a colossal dipshit, I'm ready to go," he says in his usual bored tone.

"Oh, I'm ready," Stiles replies. Jackson doesn't move his eyes from Stiles's as he approaches the doorway where he stands. Their chests brush as Stiles exits the room. He descends the stairs quickly then grabs his red hoodie from where it hangs on the back of the front door. While Stiles zips up the jacket, Derek tells him, "Be careful out there. We don't know if the alpha pack is planning on trying anything tonight, so no lollygagging about."

"Alright, gramps, no lollygagging," Stiles states, giving Derek a sarcastic thumbs up. He pulls the front door open only to have Jackson shove him out of the way to exit first. It would make him upset if it weren't for the fact that he already knows what Jackson has coming. He follows out silently.

* * *

They take the Porsche because, according to Jackson, "Only a career loser would be caught driving that shitty Jeep." As soon as they turn off of Stiles's street, Jackson drops the 'I'm an unaffected douche bag' look and slips back into the much more rare 'drowning in UST, help me please' look. He drives with stiff arms, paying an awful lot of attention to the painted lines on the road.

Stiles lets the pregnant silence stand for the first few minutes, loving that  _he's_  the reason for the tension. Oh so many times had he been the one trying to look natural as the object of his desires sat less than a foot away, endeavoring to fill the awkward silence with bits of marginally relevant information. Once again, he's the one to break the silence.

"So, I can't really tell with my wussy human nose, but I'm assuming the car is completely full of of the smell of arousal. Am I right?" Jackson doesn't respond, but Stiles sees his nostrils flare a bit as he tries to discreetly scent the air. "Judging by your silent angst, I'd guess that's a yes," he says smugly. "Are you freaking out because you're hot for me and I'm a guy, or because you're hot for me and I'm me? I'm guessing it's the latter because there is no way Danny hasn't already tapped that," he finishes as they pull into Deaton's parking lot.

Jackson puts the car into park then turns to look at Stiles, his jaw twitching. "God, there's got to be something wrong with me."

"Well, duh," Stiles responds, "you're kinda issue ridden." He makes his tone light; some might call it flirty. "What problem have you developed now?"

"I...I even find your rambling attractive. I mean, I hate you! It's supposed to be annoying-" Stiles licks his lips. Jackson swallows and his eyes dart down to Stiles's mouth before racing back up to fix on his amber eyes again. The car seems to be getting smaller, his face closer to Stiles's than before.

 _Final nudge..._ "If listening to me speak is so confusing for you, J," he says, voice low, "how's about you shut me up?"

That does it. Jackson gives into his animal instinct and crushes his lips against Stiles's, moaning when Stiles meets the kiss firmly.

The kiss is so different from the one with Lydia. That had been soft and sweet, her mouth warm and pliant beneath his; Jackson's lips are soft too, but the heat is turned up immensely and he is far from passive. There is a struggle for dominance between the two of them, but Stiles knows that Jackson doesn't really want to win. Jackson wants to be put in his place as he hasn't been by anyone other than his alpha. He has a beta mentality down in his bones, telling his wolf to find a leader, but Stiles has no such constraints.

Jackson growls into Stiles's mouth, so Stiles growls back, using his tongue to part Jackson't lips. Even their tongues wrestle for control of the kiss, but Stiles comes out on top. He keeps to that trend, shifting his body across the car until he is straddling Jackson's lap in the front seat and pressing the other's head back into the headrest with the force of the kiss.

Jackson moans again...loudly. Stiles smiles against his mouth before pulling the werewolf's lower lip between his teeth and biting down with more force than he'd used with Lydia. With the bite, Jackson's cock twitches where Stiles can feel it presses against the inside of his thigh. Jackson's hands travel up and down his sides, feeling the muscles there ripple as Stiles grinds his hips against Jackson's.

Still moving against Jackson, Stiles ends the kiss only to reattach his lips to Jackson's throat. He bites into the flesh just under Jackson's chiseled jaw and sucks hard enough to leave a bruise on anyone without superwolf healing. Jackson's head lolls back against the headrest as he groans in satisfaction, eyes shut.

Stiles stops and takes a moment to memorize the wrecked look on Jackson's face, the feel of the muscles trapped under his own hard body.  _Not bad_ , he thinks. Especially considering that only half of of his focus had been on the makeout. The other half had been on guiding Jackson's hands to the steering wheel and cuffing them there, something Jackson has yet to notice.

Jackson does notice the extended absence of Stiles's mouth, though. It's when he opens his eyes and moves to grip Stiles's sides again but can't that he realizes that he is in manacles. Then he gets angry.

"What the fuck, Stiles?" Jackson demands, tugging on the steel cuffs. Stiles smiles down at the man he is still straddling. "This has been fun," he says, "we should do this some time when I'm not late for an appointment."

"What appoin-" Jackson is silenced when Stiles licks a slow stripe up his throat culminating in a nip at his pulse point. He grins again. "No time for questioning right now, J. Be a good boy while I'm gone and we can pick up where we left off."

Stiles opens the driver's side door and quickly maneuvers under Jackson's arms to exit the the Porsche. Jackson begins to pull against the cuffs after realizing where Stiles plans to go. "Don't even think about it, Stilinski!" he shouts, shaking the car with the force of his tugs against the handcuffs.

Stiles just says, "If the others find you before I get back , give them a big kiss for me," and slams the car door shut before Jackson can reply. He can hear the car rocking violently for a whole block and a half as he jogs toward the warehouse district.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys. The AO3 version is now up to date with the post of FF.net, so updates will be slower from now on. Probably once every week or so. I'm working on the next chap. now, though, so hold tight :)

A large and seemingly vacant warehouse looms over Stiles. He knows that it is being inhabited by the alpha pack, has known for over a month that this is their home base. He'd initially withheld the info from Derek and the others to protect them from themselves; if they knew, Stiles was sure they'd rush in, claws flashing, and get ripped to shreds.

Then Stiles had become so disillusioned that he honestly thought they didn't deserve to know; no one who could be so oblivious as to the feelings of a member of their pack needs to be trusted to plan an efficient attack on such a strong group of wolves...

Now, though, Stiles can see the real reason he hadn't told the pack: he was the right person for the job. No one else. If his pack showed up here, they'd be sniffed out by the alphas before they were close enough to do any damage, and the alphas would be battle ready by the time they got within fighting range. But Stiles? They'd smell him coming and come out in their p.j.'s just to laugh at the ickle human who runs with wolves. Stiles is counting on that.

Stiles does a mental checklist of his weapons and reviews the moves he's trained so many times while he waits for someone to come out of the building and collect him. He even bites his lip, looks nice and nervous. He doesn't have to wait long before one of the alphas, a gorgeous brunette with deceptively doe-like eyes and an unmistakably wicked grin emerges. "Hey little Red." Stiles jumps dramatically at the sound of her voice, as if he hadn't caught the movement of her stepping out of the shadows in his peripheral vision. She giggles as he spins to face her, eyes wide. "You know you're not supposed to actually go looking for the big bad wolf, right? It takes all of the fun out of kidnapping you."

He shuffles his feet and doesn't look her in the eye as he says, dryly "Ha ha, little red riding hood jokes, 'cause I'm besties with a wolf...those never get old." She doesn't stop chuckling at his sarcasm. "Look," he continues, "I don't want any trouble. I just wanted to talk to you about my dad-"

"Kid, kid," she cuts him off.  _How rude._  "Your concern for your papa is touching, honestly, but I really don't like it when my prey talks too much. It's irritating." Stiles forcibly gulps and thinks about the danger his father will be in if he fails here, hopefully causing the scent of fear to fill the air. He receives the alpha's toothy smile as a reward. "You may not have come looking for trouble, Red, but you've definitely found it."

_Good._

* * *

Stiles thinks that the most infuriating thing about this situation is the fact that they've neglected to tie him up _again._ There's only 4 members of the 10-wolf pack in the house. The leader and a few others, Stiles learns from listening to their conversation, are doing surveillance on the main portion of the Hale pack back at Stiles's place, and a second group is watching Isaac, Erica, and Boyd near the station. The 4 who are 'holding down the fort' are literally traipsing around and eating bagels. They'd just kind of thrown Stiles into a chair in the sitting room upon his arrival and continued to go about their business.

"So, you aren't planning on eating me?" he asks the alpha who'd brought him in. He's since learned that her name is Avery.

"Nah," she says, plopping down on the couch opposite the chair Stiles sits in. "I figure if we keep you here for a while either your pack will show up all distraught and ripe for the picking, or the rest of my pack will get home and we can  _all_  have us some little Red." She smiles winningly at him.

Without taking his eyes off of her, Stiles takes in the room with his eyes and ears and can tell that the other 3 alphas have moved on to other parts of the building. They can be back in the room in a matter of minutes , but Stiles figures this is as good a time as any. Besides, he just wants to hit this cocky bitch. His eyes drop down to his hands where he has been twiddling his thumbs for the past 10 minutes, then back up through his lashes to Avery's. "If I'm going to be dying soon, can I tell you something personal in the meantime?" he asks her. She must sense an opportunity to do a little more mocking because she eagerly leans forward in her seat. "Sure, Red. Let's talk about feelings."

"Well..." he begins uncertainly before letting his gaze harden, his true emotions showing through, "I  _hate_  being called Red." The sudden shift in his demeanor shocks Avery. It's almost too easy for Stiles to stand and pull out Shocky, flick his wrist to extend it, then bring it down across her temple, electrocuting her. He puts a lot of his strength behind the blow and it knocks her sideways on the couch where she seizes for for a few moments before her healing powers allow her to sit up. She looks pissed, which is good.

"You're so going to pay for that!" she spits out before launching herself at Stiles. He ducks out of her way with little effort, then spins to face her when she lands behind him. Before he has time to land another shot she swiftly punches him three times in the gut, knocking him back a few feet. Despite having the wind knocked out of him, he refuses to double over in pain. He lashes out with Shocky, battering Avery's ribs, neck, and temple until she collapses under the pain of the volts of electricity running through her body. He knows that the thud of her body hitting the floor will bring the others back to the room, so he quickly pulls a pinch of powdery wolfsbane dust out of his pocket and sprinkles it over her nose, mouth, and still-closed eyes to keep her out of commission.

Pounding footsteps enter the room just before a strong hand grips his shoulder and pulls him up from where he's crouching near Avery's head. Stiles doesn't wait to see who the owner of the hand is. Instead he turns and uses his can of pseudo-pepper-spray to spray the wolf behind him. It is Joshua, Avery's second-in-command for the night, and he claws at his face-literally  _claws_ -trying to relieve the burn of the wolfsbane and mountain ash invading his eyes and nose. In moments, black goo begins to seep from his self-inflicted wounds. Stiles clasps a hand behind Joshua's neck, almost like he had done to Lydia before their kiss. Then he uses all of his strength to shove the disoriented werewolf into the nearest wall, head first.

As Joshua slumps to the ground, the final two wolves in the area arrive in the sitting room. Stiles takes a quick breath to focus himself and pocket the spray can before charging the twins, Ethan and Aiden. They are caught off guard by this (no werewolf expects to be attacked by a human who doesn't belong to a major hunting family) and Stiles is able to get a hand on either side of their heads and crash their skulls together. He immediately retreats a few paces and steps and stoops to pick Shocky up from where it lay beside Avery's body. Ethan and Aiden recover quickly and after a shared look they simultaneously step forward and punch Stiles on opposite sides of his chest. This time he does double over.  _Stupid twin telepathy._

One of the twins (Stiles can't tell the difference between the two) brings a heavy fist down on Stiles's back causing him to land face-first on the ground, splitting his lip. Stiles knows that if he gives any real openings he's a dead man, so he swiftly rolls over onto his back and kicks himself up to a standing position. He lifts his leg and kicks Left-twin square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. Then, when Right-twin turns to look at his brother, Stiles brings Shocky down hard across the back of his head. Right-twin cries out in pain, but Stiles doesn't pause before striking him four more times across the neck and shoulder blades in rapid succession. Electricity induced seizures take him and he falls.

Of course this enrages Left-twin causing his face to wolf out. This time he's the one to charge Stiles, but Stiles is prepared, dodging at the last second as a matador would in a bull fight. Left-twin's claws rake across Stiles's side as he runs past and Stiles hisses in pain. He soon pushes the pain from his mind, though, because he's got a really pissy wolf on his hands and he needs to focus.

A second later he is tackled and he and Left-twin are wrestling on the ground. Lefty punches Stiles in the side, and Stiles could swear he hears his own rib crack. He knows Lefty does because right after the punch he is smiling that infuriating toothy werewolf smile and Stiles loses it.

Ignoring the pain in his side, Stiles rolls the two of them over so that he is basically sitting atop Lefty's chest. Then he takes out the spray can and sprays a liberal amount into the werewolf's face. Once he's satisfied Lefty is effectively going through hell, he drops the can and punches him in the face as hard as he can a few times for good measure. Lefty loses consciousness after punch number 5, and Stiles gives him the same wolfsbane dust treatment he'd given Avery earlier, halting the healing process. He likes the thought that Lefty will be lying here with the bruises and cuts that Stiles gave him for a while yet.

Stiles crawls over to where Righty's body fell minutes earlier and repeats the process, sprinkling the dust in the wolf's eyes, nose, and mouth, before standing to take in the room around him. Oozy and unconscious bodies lay all about, and Stiles, Lefty, and Joshua's blood is spattered in various spots on the floor. Stiles powers Shocky down, then collapses it and stuffs it into his jeans along with the pepper-spray can. Each movement causes his shirt to move uncomfortably against the claw wound on his left side, which isn't even to mention his  _cracked rib_. He clutches his side as he limps past the injured bodies.

 _Fucking peasants,_ he thinks as he exits the building, resigned to a long walk back to his house. They'd taken Jackson's car earlier, so Stiles's trusty Jeep is still in his driveway. Almost a mile and a half away from the warehouse district.

As a gentle breeze picks up, it blows against Stiles's bruised face, and he's not sure whether he hates the sting of the cool air on his split lip or loves it, but his uncertainty is kind of news to him. He was never much of a glutton for pain before...But now the burn of exertion in his muscles after a hard fight, the pain from his battle wounds-real wounds that won't heal up in a matter of minutes-are exhilarating for Stiles. He suddenly feels more alive than he has in a long while, and regardless of the pain in his sides... _because_  of that pain, Stiles begins to walk taller on the long trek home in the dark, a painful smile pulling his already bloodied lips a little tighter.


	7. Chapter 7

When Stiles arrives at his house a half-hour later, the pack—Jackson included—is clustered around Stiles's dining room table, arguing over the best way to infiltrate the alpha pack's evil lair and rescue him. He actually hears Scott us the term evil lair. They are so into the debate that they don't even notice that Stiles is even there until he slams the heavy wooden door behind him, causing them all to jump.

Stiles looks at their confused and relieved faces and smiles, suppressing a hiss at the pain that causes his split lip. "So, I see you found Jackson," he says lightly. "I started to leave him a water bowl, but I had faith you wouldn't let him sit there for too long."

Derek frowns and marches over to where Stiles stands. He reaches out and grasps Stiles's jaw with a hand, turning it side to side to inspect the bruises and cuts there. "What the hell did you do?" he asks softly.

"Oh, you know. Just visited some friends, had a nice chat—"

"You actually took on the alpha pack by yourself?" Isaac asks from where he still stands by the table. Stiles laughs at how cute Isaac's 'incredulous face' is. He says "No, I only took on about two-fifths of the alpha pack." He yanks his face out of Derek's grip. "No big deal, really."

"Stiles!" Derek basically shouts, "How could you do something so stupid? You're lucky they let you go with so few injuries—"

"Let me go?! They didn't just  _let me go_ , Derek." Stiles is preparing his rant in his head when all of the wolves suddenly stiffen, eyes turned toward the front door, then all at once run out of the door to the front of Stiles's house. Confused, the three humans follow out onto the porch only to be pushed back behind the wall of growling werewolves.

When a familiar female voice demands "Let us see him," Stiles understands. The alphas have come for him. Derek says "Never," through what sounds to Stiles like clenched fangs, and the alpha leader responds saying "If you don't let us see him, we'll cut all of you down until he's the only one left standing."

Stiles knows that Derek would totally let it come to that if it meant protecting the pack human, so he's quick to clear his throat, getting the attention of both alphas. "That won't be necessary," he says, pushing his way through his reluctant packmates until he stands beside Derek at the front edge of the porch. "I'm right here, totally ready to talk." Derek shoots him a 'what the fuck are you doing, Stilinski?' look, which is promptly ignored. He slowly descends the few steps between him and the front walk. "What can I do ya for?" he asks the amassed wolves. It looks like every alpha save for the four he'd already fought are arranged on the grass before him.

The alpha female smiles at him, a disconcerting sight. He's seen her a few times before during skirmishes between their two packs, a gorgeous woman with copper hair and large blue eyes, and knows how dangerous she is despite her looks. "First thing's first," she states. "Why don't you tell us why you attacked our packmates, Stiles?"

"Why don't you tell  _me_ why you attacked my dad's car, miss…I just realized that you know my name but I don't know yours. That's hardly fair."

"It's Natalie," she says. "And you ought to know that that little incident wasn't really about your papa, we just needed to make a point. As for my question—"

"As for your question," Stiles interrupts easily, "I just needed to make point, too:  _stay the fuck away from my dad_."

"Well, you've definitely made yourself clear…Was it entirely necessary to kill Joshua, though? I rather liked him."

That catches Stiles off guard. He hadn't meant to kill anyone. "I…I didn't mean to hurt anyone that badly." He dips his head at her for just a moment. "You have my apologies."

"And the others? They weren't that much better off with all of the wolfsbane they inhaled." Natalie prompts.

"Those peasants got what they deserved," he replies, touching his side as he thinks of the earlier fight. Natalie's eyes fix on the claw marks Stiles had just touched through his ripped t-shirt. Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

"You know, you could get help with that," she drawls. "One bite could heal all of that right up."

"Yeah, well I'm fine with being one of the Hale pack's humans. No bite necessary."

"Oh, honey. I meant a bite from one of  _us_ ," Natalie says, her eyes beginning to glow red. Derek and the others begin to growl where they stand behind him. _Possessive little puppies aren't they?_

"You want to give me the bite, even after I killed one of your packmates? Why?"

Natalie shrugs. "Since alpha packs recruit alphas from other packs instead of turning people ourselves, there's not that strong of a bond there. We like each other, sure, but anyone can be replaced. We want to replace Joshua with  _you_."

"But then I'd be a beta, and a beta in an alpha pack doesn't make sense," Stiles says.

"Stiles," Derek intones, his voice deep from growling, "After they'd turned you, they'd make you into an alpha…by helping you kill me."

"Oh." Stiles is surprisingly not freaking out about this fucked up situation. Normally, the thought of being turned into a supernatural creature and being made to kill his super attractive friend-alpha-stalker person would be a little too much, but Stiles is tired, and his cracked rib is pulsing beneath his skin, and his brain is too fucking fatigued for all of this so he settles on mild disturbance rather than flailing indignation. "That's kind of extreme, don't you think?"

Natalie laughs at his question. "It's funny that that sounds extreme to a human boy who took out four alpha werewolves tonight all by his lonesome. So, what do you say?"

Stiles is quiet for a long moment. "Come on, Stiles," Scott pleads, "tell her to get lost." Keeping his eyes on Natalie's, Stiles holds up his hand and feels a surge of pride when all noise ceases behind him. He lowers his palm and places both hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I'm really flattered and all," he tells Natalie, "But I'm gonna have to decline."

The alpha leader pouts cutely and says "That's too bad. You look so sexy when you're all bruised and bloody…I was looking forward to sinking my teeth into you."

Stiles smirks and gives a tiny shrug. "Another place, another time…anything could happen," he says, and he can't believe he's flirting with what is most likely the hottest, leatheriest, most dangerous woman he'll ever meet, but Natalie smiles back and it's only half threatening now. He hates to ruin the moment, but here goes… "Just know that if you do anything to hurt  _my_  pack—my dad included—you'll be the next wolf they're looking to replace." He lets his grin widen. "None of us want to see a pretty face like yours end up like Joshua's did, now do we?"

Natalie's smile grows during his threat, her eyes boring into his, and Stiles knows that he shouldn't be turned on by the fact that he can tell she's turned on by that, but he likes a lot of things that he didn't like before. So when she begins to back up toward the road and says "See you around, baby," he throws her a wink before she turns and disappears down the poorly lit street with pack in tow.

Stiles turns around in the newly settled silence, expecting to see angry faces and possibly receive another 'how stupid can you be?' speech, but instead is greeted by seven werewolves who won't meet his eye and two disbelieving humans. Not even Isaac, the most loyal puppy of all, will glance up at him. When the silence stretches for over a minute, Stiles announces "I'm way too tired for this," and marches around the gathered wolves, up his porch steps, then into his house, slamming the door behind him.

Of course, by the time Stiles makes it to his bedroom and flicks on the light, Scott is standing in the middle of the floor. Stiles sighs exasperatedly. "What is it now?" he asks when Scott just stands before him, eyes cast downward. "Why won't you look me in the eyes?"

Scott's eyes flicker up for a second and Stiles steps forward, trying to hold his gaze. "What's up, buddy?"

Scott lets out a breath then straightens up, a small smile on his face. "I don't know, man," he says, "I guess it's just this newfound heroism, making you all attractive."

That earns a smile from Stiles. "Is this your way of propositioning me to make out?" he asks, running with the inside joke. It feels good to joke with his best friend after having been upset with him for so long. But then Scott's not laughing anymore because he's suddenly right in front of Stiles, leaning in to place an open-mouthed kiss on his lips. He is in shock for a moment, but then Scott pulls Stiles's lower lip between his teeth and Stiles's cut opens back up and the sting feels so good that Stiles chases it, pressing closer to Scott's body so that the pressure of the other's torso causes the bruises across his chest and abdomen to ache. It isn't until he remembers that Scott has a girlfriend that he pulls apart from his best friend, cutting Scott off mid-groan and feeling a twinge in his side where he knows his cracked rib to be.

Scott begins to follow his mouth wanting to continue the kiss, but Stiles says "No," and Scott freezes, a guilty look on his flushed face. "Why'd you do that?" Stiles asks, genuinely confused. Scott's not gay, as far as Stiles knows, and Allison is downright lovely. So why would Scott kiss him?

"Sorry…" Scott says sheepishly, "I just—and you were so—and my wolf—" Stiles halts the word vomit by holding up his hand, surprised that that trick worked twice in one night. He says "Forget it; we'll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I'm going to sleep."

Stiles turns toward his bed and pulls his shirt over his head, hissing when every cut and bruise on his torso lights with pain at the stretching involved. Then he unbuckles his jeans and steps out of those. He turns to see Scott still standing there, obviously reluctant to leave. Stiles sighs. "Do you wanna spend the night?" Scott's dopey smile explodes on his face at Stiles's offer, and then he too is stripping down to his boxers. They've done the sleepover thing plenty of times before, albeit without the kissing prelude.

Stiles climbs into his bed and hums with satisfaction at finally being able to relax for the night. He gets comfy, flat on his back with his hands clasped on the pillow behind his head, and when Scott crawls in beside him, he shuffles all the way over to Stiles's side. "Is this going to be a cuddling thing?" he asks as Scott throws one leg over his and snakes an arm across his abs. "Mmm-hmm," comes the hummed reply from where Scott has burrowed his head between Stiles's head and shoulder. "Okay, Wonderpup."

Stiles falls asleep mere minutes later with Scott's thumb rubbing comfortably over the partially scabbed claw marks on his side and a smile tugging at his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I am so sorry that it's taken me forever and a day to get this chapter up. I've been so caught up with college apps and science fair, among other things, that I let this chapter sit in my notebook, unedited and untyped, for like three weeks. I was very unhappy with it originally, but I've made a few changes that make it seem better to me. Let me know what you think in the comments, yeah?

When Stiles wakes up the next day, Scott is gone. They had snuggled all night, but when he opens his eyes and feels the bed beside him, only the latent body heat gives hint that Scott had ever been there.

Stiles grumbles and slowly rolls out of bed. All of his torso’s cuts and bruises come alive with pain as he stands, and Stiles’s breath catches when he gives a back popping stretch. It feels amazing.

With no regard for his almost nakedness, Stiles makes his way to the bathroom. He needs a shower to wash the smells of sweat and blood and dying werewolf off of his body. It’s a wonder Scott was able to handle the smell last night. He strips off his boxers and turns on the water, then steps into the tub. The spray is scalding hot, but that’s the way that Stiles likes his showers. He takes his time soaping himself up and massaging his muscles, and by the time he’s done zoning out on the pleasure of the shower, the water’s cooled to a lukewarm temperature.

Stiles shuts off the warm spray and exits the shower, pulling his towel off of its wall mount and wrapping it about his hips. When he steps in front of the sink, poised to grab his toothbrush, Stiles pauses, looking at his reflection in the rapidly clearing mirror. _Wow._ It seems weird to him that a month has passed since the last time he looked into this same mirror and had a revelation that changed his life. If he thought he’d changed then, it was nothing compared to the transformation that’d occurred since. Stiles’s long arms are corded with sinuous muscles and there are grooves to his abdomen that mark muscles he hadn’t even known he had. The most catching thing, though, is the mottled pattern of bruises covering his body, struck through on his side with four long claw marks. Seeing them makes Stiles feel proud; these are his badges of honor, the proof of his badassery.

The sheriff must have just gotten home while Stiles was in the shower, because when Stiles opens the bathroom door after brushing his teeth, he bumps right into his dad who’d been walking down the hall. They share a moment of bumbled apologies before the sheriff suddenly goes quiet looking at his son’s body, clad only in a towel.

“What the hell?” Mr. Stilinski shouts, gaping at his son’s torso. “Who did this to you?”

Stiles is confused for a moment before realizing that all of his wounds are exposed to his father. He instinctively crosses his arms over his chest to hide some of the bigger bruises. “Oh, this? It’s nothing, dad. I was just wrestling with Scott yesterday and things got a bit out of hand. You know…teenage boy stuff.”

“And did Scott give you those scratches?” his dad asks dubiously.

Stiles curses under his breath. He opens his mouth to prattle off some excuse about the wrestling being done in the woods and there being a mama bear incident or something, but stops cold.

_No. I need to tell the fucking truth for once._

“Well?” the sheriff prompts.

Stiles drops his arms to his sides and takes a deep breath. “Okay, I lied; I wasn’t wrestling with Scott.” He gets a ‘duh’ look from his father before elaborating. “You know that gang that K.O.’d your car?” A slow nod from his dad. “Well, I kinda knew who it was as soon as I saw those pictures in your office.”

“How do you know these people, Stiles?” his dad asks.

“They just moved here over the past summer, and they’ve been causing problems for me and my friends the whole time they’ve been in our territory. _I’m not in a gang,_ ” he adds quickly, reading his father’s next question in his concerned expression, “The territory part just ties into this next part……The people who vandalized your car aren’t people, dad. They’re werewolves.”

Stiles catches his father’s immediate look of disbelief, sees him take in the mask of seriousness that is his son’s face, watches all of the pieces of the puzzle that is the last year and a half—the disappearances and farfetched mountain lion attacks—coming together in the sheriff’s mind.

“And they came after you?” he finally inquires, his face hard. Stiles know that as the ‘I’ll kill them if I have to’ look.

“Not really,” Stiles says, looking down at his dad’s work shoes, “I went after them.”

He’s expecting some kind of reprimand or scathing comment about him getting himself killed, but is surprised to be wrapped tight in one of his dad’s hugs. Those hugs reserved for father-sons bonding moments. “You’ve been fighting werewolves for the past year,” the sheriff says, with a disbelieving laugh, in his son’s ear.

Stiles nods. “Yeah, dad. I hated lying to you, but I wanted—needed—to protect you from this.”

“And to think all this time I thought you were on drugs or something.” His father releases him from the embrace, hands remaining on his son’s shoulders. He looks the teen up and down, then squeezes the shoulder muscles underneath his fingertips. “You’ve sure filled out lately.”

“Byproduct of life in a wolf pack,” Stiles says and shrugs. His dad lets his hands fall from his shoulders and takes a step back. The cold air that meets his skin as his dad’s body heat moves away reminds Stiles that he is naked save for a towel. He crosses his arms to stave off the goosebumps he can feel prickling across his chest.

“So, your friends. They’re werewolves, too?”

Stiles nods.

“And Scott…?”

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, Scott’s a werewolf too. Has been ever since he was bitten that night everyone was out I the forest looking for the dead girl—for Laura Hale.”

Stiles’s dad takes that in stride, nodding. He looks warily at Stiles and asks “And you, Stiles? Are you—?”

“Nope. Not at all. 100% human,” he hastily assures his father, who sighs and smiles at him. Stiles always feels a tug on his heart when he sees how young and handsome his dad looks with a genuine smile on his face. _Mom always loved that I could get you to smile like that._

The unexpected thought of his mother brings pricking tears to his eyes and Stiles swallows quickly, clearing his throat to dispel the sensation. “I’m still the same old Stiles. That’s not gonna change any time soon, dad.”

His dad’s smile expands, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and he tells Stiles “I’m glad, kid.”

After a moment of content silence, Stiles coughs and says “Well. I am naked, so I should probably go become…not naked. In my room.”

The sheriff laughs and nods, stepping to the side. He says “I just got in from an overnighter, so I’m about to hit the sack. You take care of those—” he points to Stiles’s bruises, “—and try not to incur any more supernatural damage while I’m out,” before he continues down the hall and disappears into his bedroom.

After Stiles retreats to his room, he loses the towel in favor of a wife beater and a pair of adidas sweatpants. Then he settles into his desk chair for a well-deserved lazy Sunday vegetating in front of his laptop.

* * *

The next day at school, Stiles sees less of his friends than he ever had before. He doesn’t catch a glance of any pack members while walking in the hallways between his morning classes, and when they turn up in their shared classes, they always sit far enough away from him that trying to talk to them would cause a disruption. Even Scott abandons him in Anatomy, sitting with Jackson and leaving him to partner up with Danny for an in-class project (not that he minds…like, at all).

When the bell signaling the end of 4th period and the beginning of 5th, his lunch, rings, Stiles is up and out of his desk fast enough to keep up with Erica—the only pup in his Trig. class—and follow her through the halls as the crowd of students clears. Though she has the same lunch period as him and the others, she does not head for the cafeteria, instead going toward the little theater on campus.

 “Erica,” he calls out as she reaches the door to the theater ahead of him. She freezes with her hand on the doorknob, then spins to face him with a curse. She must have been really distracted if she couldn’t sense a member of her own pack behind her in the now-empty hall.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks her. “What’s wrong with _all_ of you?! I mean, I thought we were all going to get past this ‘I ignore you, you ignore me’ thing—hell, Scott even slept over last night—and then I come to school and no one will speak to me, no one will look me in the eyes, and you just basically ran from class to, like, evade me. God, did you all decide as a group to give me the cold shoulder as payback for last week or something? Because I think that you all breaking into my house out of concern for my bodily health on Saturday was a waste of time if you just planned to ignore me to death, in school of all places. I refuse to die of such mundane cause, Erica, and at school no less, so you’d better start talking.”

What had started out as a moderate rant had turned into a full blown tirade half-way through, complete with pacing and intense gesticulations. By the time Stiles makes his closing statement, he has his back to Erica and his fists balled up at his sides.

He waits a few long moments for a response, but when Erica remains silent he turns to see her standing with her back against the door to the theater, eyes closed and face turned toward the sky.

_What the…_

Anger flares in Stiles’s chest at the sight. Anger at Erica for so thoroughly ignoring him, but also at Scott for his weird disappearing act, and the pack in general for being the most dysfunctional group of people he’s ever known.

“You can wish with all your might, but it won’t make me go away, Erica.” Stiles’s tone softens a bit as he asks “Did Derek forbid you from speaking to me or something?” Erica doesn’t answer, so Stiles assumes it’s got some truth to it. “Look at me, Erica. _Look at_ me.” She lowers her head slightly and peeks at him under her dark lashes. Her eyes are glowing amber, something that has been known to happen to the pups when they feel threatened. His voice regains its edge, all of his anger now redirected toward Derek, and he says “If he’s angry at me for disobeying him, wants to exclude me, you can tell him that if he wants me to stay away from my _pack_ he’ll have to tell me himself. He’ll have to physically keep me away. Because I did what I did Saturday night for _you._ For all of you. I’m not letting anyone stand between me and my pack.”

Stiles realizes that during the entire one-sided conversation he’s been stalking steadily closer to Erica’s stiff body where she’d pressed herself back against the door. He’s close enough to count her ridiculously long eyelashes. He resists the urge to do just that and forces himself to turn away from his packmate. Stiles walks back the way he’d come down the hall just minutes before, and when he comes upon an emergency exit he makes a quick decision and leaves the building. He hurries across the campus, grateful that it’s his lunch period and no one will be looking for him for a while yet, and hops into his Jeep.

When he pulls out of the parking lot, he heads straight for the forest preserve. _I need to talk to Derek. Now._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's an update. It's kinda short and way overdue, but I finally got it all out and I have a definite direction I want to take the story. Thanks a million if you're still reading. You guys are the best, and if it weren't for you I would have stopped agonizing and given up on this months ago.

Stiles is driving through the forest preserve. The trees on either side of the well-worn track created by Stiles's Jeep over the past year and a half are once again perking up at the change in season. Stiles can recognize every one, having driven past them countless times: returning from fruitless recon missions with Isaac in the dead of night; tracking deliberate paths laid down by Boyd during his few training sessions with Allison; making his way to the estate on sunny afternoons, Scott's head sticking out of the passenger side window to better smell who had arrived at the pack meetings before them.

The reminiscing does nothing but make Stiles even angrier at Derek. Basically his whole life has been this pack for over a year. He loves his packmates and his territory, and who's Derek to tell him whether or not he's allowed to fight for what he loves?

It's only minutes before the Jeep emerges into the clearing where the Hale house is situated. Stiles parks his Jeep beside the Camaro, hopping out and slamming the door behind him. He makes his way up the newly reinforced porch steps, pushing open the front door and calling into the house, "Derek, get your furry ass down here!" He almost immediately feels Derek's presence to his left, in the living room, and turns in his direction. "You can come out of the shadows, too," he says, unimpressed. He feels proud that his senses seem to be continuing to grow steadily.

Derek materializes slowly, arms crossed over his chest and a bitter look on his face.  _Probably because I just ruined his favorite pass-time of hide-n-scare-the-shit-out-of-Stiles. Too bad._ "Why aren't you in school?" Derek asks.

"Because none of my friends at school will even look at me, much less speak to me." Stiles retorts. "Would you minds telling me why that is?"

Derek sighs and turns away from him. He says, "Stiles, I'm not some kind of teen wolf expert. I don't know why they do what they do."

"Bullshit!" Stiles cries. "You literally have a direct line to their minds, Derek...I just want to know why you won't let them talk to me."

"Me?!"

"Yes, you! They're avoiding me like the plague, and I saw the fear in Erica's eyes when I cornered her today-"

"Exactly, Stiles," Derek explodes, "fear when  _you_  cornered her!" He crowds into Stiles now, poking an unforgiving finger into his chest. "This isn't my doing, Stiles. They're afraid of  _you._

Stiles's jaw drops. Of all the responses he'd expected, this was never one of them. Derek seems to sense that Stiles is genuinely shocked, so he takes a step back, visibly visibly deflates, leaving a tired expression on his usually hard face. "I'm getting nothing but confusion from the betas right now: fear, affection, loyalty, uncertainty...arousal. They don't know whether to run from you or toward you, and it scares them."

"Why?" Stiles asks, "I mean, yeah, I killed an alpha but that doesn't change who I am!"

Derek explains, "If you were a werewolf, you would be an alpha by now. And a powerful one at that-"

"But?" Stiles interrupts.

"But you're a human, dumb ass. You're like a non-alpha alpha...if that makes any sense at all."

"It doesn't," Stiles says. "I'm more confused than ever."

Derek doesn't look surprised. Rather, he growls out, "Exactly!" and he begins to pace. "Now try to imagine how the betas feel. Here's how I understand it. As far as Scott, Erica, Isaac, Jackson, and Boyd are concerned, you are pack, just as surely as they are. They know that when another wolf kills an alpha, that wolf becomes one. So now Stiles equals alpha." Stiles nods, following the explanation. "Conversely," Derek continues, "they all  _know_  that you're human. They know that when a human kills an alpha, that human is a hunter. That covers loyalty and fear, respectively. Add in their personal affection for you and you've got...'

"A total clusterfuck," Stiles supplies. "Sure, we'll go with that," Derek says. "Do you understand now?"

Stiles nods as Derek turns away from him. He's still wrapping his mind around the new information. He's feeling a little bit of pride and a whole lot of guilt for inspiring such strong positive and negative emotions in his packmates. Then a thought strikes him. "What about arousal?" he asks, remembering the last item on the list of emotions Derek had rattled off.

"What?" Derek asks, pretending not to know where the question is coming from.

"You were feeling arousal," he says. At Derek's mortified face, he amends, "Well, I don't know about  _you_ , but you were feeling second-hand arousal from the betas, you said."

"Oh, that," Derek says, scuffing the ground with a dusty black boot. "It's pretty strong in all of them, has been for a few weeks. It pretty much rolls off of Jackson in waves..." Stiles grins at that, happy that their attraction to him is because of him and not just a side-effect of their internal confusion.

Derek asks, "What did you do to Jackson, by the way?" His genuinely confused face becomes one of irritation _-_ _or is that embarrassment?-_ when Stiles replies "Wouldn't you like to know," with a not so subtle wink. Stiles doesn't even realize he's done it until Derek's whole body seems to stiffen in his discomfort, his cheeks flushing slightly.

_What was that, Stilinski?_ he thinks.  _He's obviously dealing with the betas' hormone-driven arousal, and here I am throwing winks around like it's nothing._

Stiles clears his throat, looking down. "Sorry," he says, "I think I'll go. Maybe one of the other humans will talk to me. If you think of a way that I can fix things with the others, would you let me know?"

Derek nods mutely and waves Stiles off, a pensive look on his face. Stiles can see in his eyebrows that he'll be thinking this issue through long and hard. He hopes Derek can help the betas decide, one way or another, but in the meantime he plans to find out where he stands with his fellow pack humans. Amazed at how the encounter had managed to entirely deflate him in a matter of minutes, he turns and leaves Derek's house.

 


End file.
